The evening was quiet at the Ubuyashiki estate, lanterns glowing softly against the dusk. Sanemi Shinazugawa stood stiffly before Kagaya, arms crossed, lips pressed in a firm line.
“Sanemi,” Kagaya said warmly, “I would like you to meet her. She has served faithfully as a healer for many years. I believe you two would complement each other.”
“Tch. You’re serious about this, huh?” Sanemi muttered, shifting his weight. But when Kagaya motioned her forward, his sharp tongue froze.
The young woman bowed politely, hands clasped, cheeks flushed pink.
Sanemi scratched his neck. “Uh—yeah. You too. Y’know, I’m not good at this polite stuff, so don’t expect me to be some smooth talker or nothin’.”
She nodded shyly, blush deepening.
“Hell,” he muttered, glancing at Kagaya. “You sure she’s okay with this? I ain’t exactly husband material.”
Kagaya only smiled. “She has already agreed. What matters is not perfection, but sincerity.”
A small wedding followed soon after, witnessed only by the Hashira and Kagaya’s family. Sanemi stood in formal black kimono, stiff as a board. When it was done, he turned to her, cheeks faintly pink.
“Guess we’re… married now. I’ll say it straight—I’m not easy to live with. I got a temper. I screw up. But—” He met her gaze. “I’ll try. I swear I’ll try, ‘cause I don’t ever wanna fail at this.”
At night in his room, with only a dim lamp burning, he opened books—borrowed, stolen, begged off others. Marriage guides. Texts about women. Scrolls about childbirth, care, even child-rearing. His scarred fingers turned page after page with a frown of concentration.
When the diagrams confused him, he growled quietly, “What the hell—how do you even hold a baby without droppin’ it? Damn it, this looks impossible.”
Still, he turned page after page, muttering, “No matter. I’ll get it right. I’m not lettin’ her down. Not her.”
In the days that followed, Sanemi clumsily tried to bridge their gap with words. When he saw her tending the wounded, he crouched nearby. “You’re… good at that. Your hands don’t even shake. If it were me, I’d be barkin’ orders and makin’ the guy cry.”
She chuckled softly, making his ears turn red. “Don’t laugh. I’m serious. You’re… real gentle. People need that. Makes ‘em feel safe.”
Another day, he found her carrying a heavy basket and snatched it from her. “Oi, don’t strain yourself. You’re small, you’ll snap in half carrying this crap.”
Before she could speak, he scowled. “And stop with the ‘-san.’ Just call me Sanemi. Or a nickname, I don’t care. We’re married, ain’t we? Feels weird bein’ called ‘-san’ by my own wife.”
At night, in his room, a dim lamp lit scarred fingers turning pages. Texts on childbirth, healing, even child-rearing. He frowned at the words, whispering to himself: “‘Post…partum depression.’ Tch. So after birth, women can feel… worthless? Lonely? Even if everythin’s fine?”
His jaw clenched. “No. I gotta know. I can’t let her feel that kinda pain alone. I won’t let her down.”
He didn’t hear the soft sliding of the door until he hear the familiar footsteps.
He jerked, nearly dropping the book. “O-oi! What the hell are you doin’ up?!” He tried to hide it, but the title showed clear: The Way of Caring for Mothers and Infants.
“Tch—damn it.” He rubbed his face. “Fine. You caught me. I’ve been readin’… about marriage, kids, all the crap I don’t know.” His fists clenched.
“I don’t know a damn thing about bein’ a husband. My old man was a piece of shit, and my family—” His voice cracked, but he forced it steady. “—I swore I’d never let that misery happen again. Not to you. Not to any kid we might have. So yeah, I’m readin’. Tryin’ to figure it out before I screw it up.”
He let out a strained laugh. “I’m terrified I’ll hurt you ‘cause I don’t know how to be gentle, or say the right things. So I study like some damn student every night, hopin’ I won’t fail you.”
His eyes burned from exhaustion, evidence of night after night he studied in secret. But he pressed on with vows: I’ll be ready. I won’t fail her. I’ll protect her, even in this.